Of Tea and Opium
by peony-and-poppy
Summary: A collection of England/China drabbles I've written. They're not continuous or linked in any way. Most are based off of fanart by my favourite artist.  If you're curious, just ask, and I'll be happy to link you to her pixiv account.  Others are based off of requests. Some are based off of other artist's fanworks. Rating varies. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Rating:** G  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> England/China  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 390

**Notes: **Written in like 5 minutes. I am not proof-reading, okay? Okay.

xxx

The hug came more than 200 years too late.

England hadn't intended for it to happen that way.

Their conversation was formal, delicately planned. Polite, carefully chosen words were the only kind allowed in their exchange. They stood a few feet apart, both well-dressed, ties meticulously done. China held his head high, proud of where his country stood, and he eagerly spoke of Hong Kong and how happy he would be when England rightfully returned him.

But sorrow surrounded China. England caught it; the light sadly glistened in China's miserable eyes, and England had to swallow the lump in his throat. He nodded, casually answering China's questions.

England's chest hurt. It had hurt since the 1800s, but England had refused to remove his mask. He couldn't, not when he had everything to lose.

He looked at China, let his gaze linger for a second _too_ long. England had proudly worn his mask—and betrayed and lied and ripped China _apart_—all because he was afraid to lose. But ...

Gold eyes met green ones, and England's heart skipped a beat.

He sighed. The important thing that mattered—the _only_ thing that mattered all along, China, _Yao_—was lost, and he had foolishly lost Yao because of his ignorance and folly.

"Aiya, Arthur, stop daydreaming. How old are you? Fi—"

A hand clutched China's arm. China's body moved forward, pulled off balance. In an instant, China was in England's arms, eyes wide and confused.

England's jacket smelled of bergamot, but China wasn't sure what he was doing in England's arms in the first place, nose pressed against England's clothes. "Arthur ... what are you—"

Arms encircled China's torso and tightened around him. England pressed his cheek against China's head and breathed in his scent. He mumbled words far too faint for even China to hear, "I'm so sorry."

But China didn't have to hear the words to understand; the embrace was loud enough. His hands shook, but he brought them up to England's arms and clutched onto his clothes. "Opium bastard," he whispered, words shaking, trembling. He bit his bottom lip and buried his face in England's chest, hiding the tears that finally spilled.

England tightened his hold, crushing China against his body. He had senselessly waited 200 years to embrace China, but now he refused to let go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rating:** PG  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> England/China  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 373

**Notes: **You know the drill. Written in 5 minutes; I kid you not. How do I avoid doing HW? BY WRITING POINTLESS DRABBLES, OF COURSE!

xxx

Hong Kong sighed, trying his hardest not to drop the book in his hands. China's arms were obnoxiously draped over his shoulders, and while that wasn't _too_ much of a problem, the third wheel had shown up and decided to wrap _his_ arms around _China_.

"Arthur, I never said you were welcome," China mumbled, turning his face to peek at England. The blond nation had discarded his jacket, tossed it on the floor somewhere, and happily joined Hong Kong and China on the floor. His arms were tightly wrapped around China's waist, much to China's—and Hong Kong's—displeasure.

"Where are you manners, Yao? It's rude to shun your guests." He placed a small kiss on China's shoulder and smirked, pulling China closer to his chest—pulling _Hong_ _Kong_ closer to _China's_ chest.

"I'm trying to read," Hong Kong muttered, certain that his words had gone unnoticed.

They had, in fact. China sighed and glared at England, not once acknowledging what Hong Kong had said. "You're not a guest. I never invited you in-"

"Yao, you smell of spring and flowers."

Hong Kong mentally rolled his eyes and flipped a page in the book. Wonderful. This was what he always wanted.

"Arthur!" China attempted to move away from Arthur's embrace, but he found himself caught in-between two bodies. Had Hong Kong been there all along? "Don't you see Hong Kong? He's trying to read."

England blinked and eyed Hong Kong, "Leon, haven't I told you not to read filthy American literature? Where is your Shakespeare?"

"… Who?"

Hurt by the answer, England returned to what he had previously been doing: sniffing China's neck. "See there, the boy is fine. He even has the nerve to insult one of the greatest writers of all time." He pressed a kiss against China's neck, blissfully smiling against the skin.

"Aiya, that's not what I meant!" China frowned, mumbling a curse in his native tongue.

Hong Kong let out an exasperated sigh and turned another page in the book. He was never quite sure whose house was more rowdy, but after thinking it through, he gave England another 5 minutes before China elbowed England in the gut and kicked him out of the house for good.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rating:** PG?  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> England/China  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 403  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Yadda, yadda. I drabble IggyChu when I'm avoiding homework. Actually, I'm supposed to be writing final papers. There will be a flood of these. OTL

xxx

"_Move_." It was the only word that left China's lips, but it was enough to send shivers down England's spine.

"And if I don't, you will ...?"

"I'll throw a chair at your face." Simple, straight to the point: England loved that about China. He wouldn't move, though, even if it meant coming face-to-face with a chair.

"Arthur. _Move_."

The way China said his name also sent shivers down his spine. It made his stomach twist, his chest ache, his fingers tingle.

"You've been working too hard, Yao. How about a little break?" His hand remained on the paper China was attempting to read. China—_finally_—turned his attention to England, gold eyes meeting green ones, and England had to bite the inside of his cheek to refrain from reaching out, grabbing China's chin, and—

"No." China moved his hand and grabbed another paper; his eyes, however, remained pinned to England's. "If you are tired, go take a nap." A smile—a smug smile that England wanted to wipe away, wanted to _kiss_ away—appeared on China's lips.

England considered it. After a second, he grinned and leaned down. He softly touched his lips to China's ear, felt China shudder in surprise, and whispered, "Why don't we nap _together_." He anticipated the shove and grabbed China's wrist. A hard yank. A shove. Papers littered the floor.

"Yao ..."

China half-glared at England; the Asian nation managed to pin _him_ against the table and had the _nerve_ to glare at _him_! "Yao... this is rather uncomforta-"

"Arthur, when will you learn?"

England chuckled, ignoring the ridiculous pain shooting across his back, "Give in. It'll make things easier, Yao."

China sighed. Of course England would say that to him when _he_ was the one pinned down. He eyed the nation beneath him and shook his head. The papers were a mess on the floor, and picking them up was not something China wanted to do.

"Never," China mumbled, releasing England's wrists, slowly moving his hands up the man's chest. He pressed his body against England's, holding back a pleased smile when England groaned in response. "But ... a nap with you doesn't sound _too_ bad," he murmured, gently pressing their lips together.

The pain in his back and the chair that would eventually be thrown his way hardly mattered; England wrapped his arms around China's waist and pulled him closer, smirking into the kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

**Rating:** PG  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> England/China  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 339

**Notes: **I actually wrote this drabble because a friend of mine wrote one for the same picture. :'D Fun times. Fun times.

xxx

Decades.

England had spent decades upon _decades_ lost in confusion. The first time England had seen him, the nation had been wearing a bright, traditional Chinese gown. His hair had been long, longer than it was now, and his face-no, his entire presence-screamed of delicacy and beauty. It was only natural that England—and Portugal and France and Spain and eventually America—ended up confusing China for a woman.

But England had gotten close—though not close ENOUGH—to China before to feel the obvious lack of breasts.

That didn't stop him from staring at China like he was some sort of apparition come back from the dead, though. _He's too beautiful; he can't possibly be a man…_

"Why are you looking at me like that, Arthur?" China's eyes were busy staring at some papers in front of him, but he could feel England's green gaze on him. Didn't the man have anything better to do than to gawk at him?

"We should find the others. America probably got lost and wound up in Burger King, but it is crucial to find him and—" England's voice faded, mind wandering back to the topic it had been focusing on seconds before.

"I'll look for America. You're in charge of finding France and Russia," China stated simply, standing from his seat, papers in a neat stack in his arms.

"Right," England muttered, standing as well. "Wait, why do _I_ have to find _those_ two?" He frowned, not at all pleased with China's sudden burst of leadership. His eyes ran down China's body, and before he could think of the consequences—because getting _too_ close to China always resulted in physical pain—England took a step closer to the Asian and stretched out his arms.

China froze, the hands on his chest causing him to drop the papers onto the ground.

"Arthur..."

A joyful cheer. "Ha! France lost this time! That bloody frog better pay up, or I'll—"

The next thing England saw was the bottom of China's shoe.


	5. Chapter 5

**Rating:** G  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> England/China + Hong Kong  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 280  
><strong>Notes: <strong>New Pocket picture = distraction from homework. ;3333; New Pocket picture. There are not enough words in the English language to help me express my excitement and joy.

xxx

The scene was a feint blur in the back of Hong Kong's mind, almost as if his memories were not memories at all, but phantasies. Yet scenes like that could not be made up. He remembered them too clearly, too vividly.

The scene he had dreamt about that night, for instance, was far too real for it to be an illusion. He could still picture those shining green eyes brimming with care and fondness. A tender smile, almost too kind and genuine, but it was definitely there on England's face. And he could feel himself in warm arms and hear that carefree laugh from the man who held him. When Hong Kong turned his face, gold eyes shining with love greeted him. China's smile was warm and relaxed, and the tenderness with which he held Hong Kong made the small boy smile.

"I suppose the boy can have a bite," came the soothing Englishman's voice. Hong Kong returned his attention to England just as the blond nation held the treat out to him. A chuckle escaped England's lips as Hong Kong eagerly leaned forward to take a bite.

"Just one," China affirmed, not wanting the small child to ruin his appetite.

As Hong Kong chewed the small dumpling, he noticed the way the two older nations looked at each other. Their smiles were sweet and tender, their gazes soft and doting, their voices loving and warm.

When Hong Kong opened his eyes, he knew that the scene he had dreamt was real. It was a memory from the past, a memory of the days when happiness surmounted treachery, a memory that Hong Kong would silently cherish for years to come.


	6. Chapter 6

**Rating:** PG  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> England/China  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 266  
><strong>Notes: <strong>You're getting two tonight. Mmhm~

xxx

China prided himself in not giving in to temptation so easily. As much as he loved certain types of foods or cute stuffed toys, he refused to drop his guard, especially when nations like France or Russia were involved. China knew better than to show Westerners any sign of weakness. However, China could not-absolutely could _not_-resist the life-sized Shinatty-chan standing in front of him. The cute button eyes with adorable lashes, the red ribbon, the happy-yet creepy-grin on its face; Shinatty-chan was too cute to ignore.

Almost unconsciously, China opened his arms and threw himself at the giant stuffed toy. "Shinatty-chan," he happily sighed into the man's chest, and that's when he realised-

"Aa... you're not Shinatty-chan." The familiar scent of bergamot orange filled China's senses. He looked up just in time to see Shinatty-chan-England!-take off the costume's headpiece. In an instant, China was picked up and swung over England's shoulder. A light-hearted chuckle then came from the blond.

"You tricked me!" China almost lashed out at England, but his position didn't allow him to slam his foot against England's face.

Another laugh, this one just as obnoxious. "It was easier than I thought."

"Opium bastard, put me down!" China's demand, however, was cut off when England place a hand on his-

"Aiyah! Do not touch me there!"

"You'll fall if I don't hold on to you," came England's logical reply. China could envision England's proud grin on his face, and the situation only made him angrier. If England knew what was good for him, he'd never put China down.


	7. Chapter 7

**Rating**: PG? How does one rate things anyway?  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: England/China  
><strong>Word Count<strong>: 672**  
>Notes<strong>: I forgot I had a account. |D

xxx

Tenderness. That was the one and only word in existence that could be used to describe England's kisses. They were always tender, no matter the century or circumstance.

Their first kiss was by chance, unplanned. The tea in the cups was still hot. The flavour stained both their lips. Shy laughter and awkward glances ensured that both England's and China's cheeks remained painted with an intimation of pink. A gentle touch. A curious stare. England reached forward to brush China's hair out of his face. The touch was delicate, almost innocent. China's eyes widened for a second. A smile, sweet and inviting, graced his lips.

England couldn't resist. He leaned closer, almost falling off his chair in the process, but nothing would stop him from tasting those lips.

The kiss was slow, tentative, a gentle brush of the lips. Neither breathed. Delicate fingers danced up England's chest. England's fingertips barely caressed China's cheek. Magical. That's what the kiss was. It was soft and warm and—

It sealed their cursed fate.

The drugs changed them both, yet England's kisses remained the same. They were always tender, but the tenderness made reality hurt that much more.

England sought China. It annoyed China. It made him angry and flustered and confused. They argued, shouted obscenities. China swore he hated England, and England laughed bitterly in response. Then England grabbed China, overpowering him merely because of the weakness caused by the opium. He smashed their lips together, and anger boiled in China's veins.

Sorrow. An apology in the form of a kiss. England's lips were soft and gentle. His hands delicately cupped China's cheeks, yet firmly kept him in place. He refused to let go of China. Refused to let China breathe and think properly. Refused to free him from the addiction.

It hurt. Every time England kissed him, China hurt. The kiss pained him like nothing before ever had. He wanted to deny England. He wanted to scream and kick and hurt the man, but the kisses revealed the agony England, too, was suffering. Gentleness was not something England, a backstabbing tyrant, should be capable of, but it was evident in the way he kissed China.

England never took it farther. He would consume China's lips, leave him flushed and enraged; then he would leave. Leave China with the remains of a half-spoken apology against his lips, a crushed heart, and emptiness.

Tyrants were not supposed to be so tender.

Over the years, England's kisses became hesitant, almost shy. Hong Kong was returned, and China forgave England, though he never forgot what he did. Perhaps that was the seed that sprouted England's doubt.

England smiled. Green eyes sparkled, and China felt his heart flutter. China was strong now. He was stronger than he had been in years, but his stomach still flipped at the sight of those green eyes and polite smile. He laughed. England's jokes were lame, old-fashioned, but they amused China and reminded him of the years before the opium. Then, he leaned forward and grabbed England's tie. He pulled the man closer and pressed their lips together. There it was again—tenderness mixed with uncertainty, caution, regret.

England gently traced his tongue across China's bottom lip. Fingers threaded through long strands of hair, lovingly brushing dark, soft locks. And just as dotingly, England slowly pulled back, a small smile now on his lips. He rested his forehead against China's, eyes revealing the same secrets his kiss exposed—fear and love. England feared losing, hurting, _betraying_ China again. He feared doing something wrong, something that would drive China away or make him hate England once more.

But what England didn't know was that China never hated him. He couldn't. The tenderness in every kiss divulged England's adoration, an adoration that never waned. He loved China, and China knew all along. From their first clumsy kiss, China knew the tenderness meant that England loved him too. And as long as England kept kissing him in that manner, China would always cherish the stupid opium bastard.


	8. Chapter 8

**Rating:** PG  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> England/China  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 469  
><strong>Notes: <strong>I want ice cream.

xxx

"Just one bite," England said with a huff, the cool cup in his hand making the rays of the sun feel a little less hot.

"If I wanted to try your ice cream, I would have asked," came the curt answer. China brought his ice cream cone to his mouth and licked off some of the melting treat before it dripped down his hand.

In actuality, the reason England wanted China to take a bite of his ice cream was so that he would have the chance to taste _China's_ ice cream. England wasn't one to like ice cream all that much—it was good on hot days, and that was it—but the added hint of China's own taste on the ice cream was enticing. He _had _to taste China's ice cream. "Then, may I have a lick of yours?"

"No."

England almost pouted. The sun must have been causing him a little brain damage; he was acting almost as childish as America. In defeat, he lifted his spoon to his lips and let the coolness of the ice cream spread inside his mouth.

"Maybe if you generously coat the ice cream with some fudge, I will accept your first offer," China said a second later, his gold eyes following the spoon from the ice cream to England's mouth.

"If you wanted fudge, you could have asked the ice cream vendor," England teased, giving China a smug smile. He scooped some of the ice cream onto the spoon, making sure he dipped it into the fudge, and lifted it to China's mouth.

China's eyes seemed to sparkled as he opened his mouth and leaned forward, ready to accept the ice cream. Except England pulled his arm away. "And then I can try some of yours, yes?"

"Yes, of course," China answered, a small glare directed at the blond. But it disappeared a moment later when England brought the spoon to China's mouth. China let Arthur press the spoon against his lips, the fudge staining China's bottom lip before it was moved inside China's mouth. The taste of vanilla and chocolate—and _Arthur_—mingled together, almost making China moan out loud.

It wasn't fair. England's ice cream was way better than his own, though he highly suspected it had something to do with England, who now had a curious expression on his face.

"I take it you like it."

China pulled back, a faint blush on his cheeks. "It's okay," he answered quickly and held his ice cream out for England. "Here. Just taste it and be quiet."

England nodded, but instead of leaning down and licking the ice cream, he grabbed China's chin and pulled his face closer to England's. "Don't mind if I do."

Not even the sun could burn as intensely as when their lips collided.


	9. Chapter 9

**Rating:** MA (Well… kind of. As MA as I can write. :| Which is more like "hints of adult concepts with a side of hopeless romance/angst"!)  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> England/China  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 455  
><strong>Notes: <strong>None of these are proofread. I apologize for errors~

xxx

"Arthur!"

China's screams were going unheard. Why had he let the other nation tie him up anyway? Oh right, he was tricked! Those damned green eyes had looked at him with such tenderness that China had momentarily forgotten to _whom_ those eyes belonged. Now he was on the floor, shirtless, arms tied, lying beneath the damned _Opium_ _Bastard_ who could do nothing but smirk at him.

He gave the ropes around his arms a hard yank. Arthur's smile widened.

"Arthur, if you don't untie-"

"You'll make me pay. I know, I know." England ran his fingers through China's hair and slipped off the hair tie. China's hair—soft and long and perfectly _beautiful_—pooled around China's face. England's heart skipped a beat and he promptly added, "You agreed to this."

"You tricked me," China retorted, glaring at the man above him. He shivered when England's fingers ran down his neck and across his collarbone. "This has gone far enough!"

But England refused to listen. He leaned down and pressed his lips against China's, a gentle but forceful kiss. A small, breathy moan fluttered in-between their lips, and England wasn't sure if it belonged to him or to China. Not that it mattered; the only important thing was the way China's lips and tongue responded when they came into contact with his.

The older nation bucked beneath him, trying to knock the man on top off balance. It was useless, though. England's gloved hands—tempting and teasing—were already sliding down China's torso, and this time England was sure it was China who moaned out loud.

"Opium Bastard," China angrily mumbled, unable to stop his pants from being slipped off and tossed aside. He half expected England to shove his legs apart and have his way with him, but all England did was quietly murmur apologies and affectionate promises against China's neck. His lips tenderly—almost too tender for the man who had drugged him and his people decades before—kissed down China's neck and chest.

China gasped, moving his arms to cover his face, a sad attempt at concealing the blush on his cheeks. When England's lips reached China's stomach, the world around him melted away. China's body tingled and his chest ached.

"Let me love you, Yao." A simple, affectionate plea. The words, spoken softly against China's hot skin, somehow reached China's ears. China's entire body trembled. A gasp fluttered past his lips as his body arched. He closed his eyes and said nothing, temporarily granting England's request.

For a moment, China felt trapped, tightly embraced in a heated dance with a haughty demon. Still, he couldn't find the strength to push him away, and he almost didn't mind temptation this time around.


	10. Chapter 10

**Rating**: PG

**Pairing**: England/China

**Word** **Count**: 488

**Notes**: IDK my angst is showing /shot

xxx

China felt warm against England's chest. Warm and soft and small. China's arms were tightly wrapped around the taller nation, fingers desperately clinging to England's uniform coat, threatening to tear holes into the worn and blood-stained fabric. A shudder wracked the older nation's body, and it was at that moment that England realised China was crying. Silently, as if he were trying to keep it a secret from the other nation, but England knew better. His clothes were growing damp with every tear China shed.

England moved his arms and held China tightly, buried his face into China's hair, and sniffed in the man's scent. Fresh, like flowers and spring, but a hint of death loomed around him. The thought caused England to hold China tighter, and that's when it hit him—he too was crying. Tears slowly ran down his face and got lost in a mess of dark hair. He couldn't remember a time when they could lie together, side by side, without fighting or crying. All he remembered was pain. Everything hurt. China hurt. England hurt. Their bodies, minds, souls, hearts—everything.

England hated reminiscing about the past. He knew he wasn't alone in the matter, but his memories were always ugly: war, bloodshed, death, disease, betrayal—his entire life was a blur of black and red. That is, until he met China. For a while, England thought his life could be normal, like that of a human. When he was with China, he believed he could forget about what was going on back home, overlook the meaningless killing and hate. He believed he could let love consume him, let China's very being consume him. China's smile and shy words, long hair and elegant clothes, poised composure and sparkling eyes—they made England's heart thump and his cheeks flare.

But he threw away love and honour and tenderness. He threw away China and his gentle touches and sweet smiles. He threw it all away for a meaningless war, more bloodshed and lies, more betrayals and death. He had searched so long to find China, and when he did, he broke him. Tore him. Used him. Dirtied him.

And how it had hurt England. He was stupid and foolish—he knew that much. All along, he had wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold China. Kiss away the pain and lies and—

"You're wetting my hair," a hushed voice said.

"It's payback for wetting my shirt," England retorted.

A small huff. "So childish."

England frowned and suddenly tightened his arms around China. He pressed a kiss against China's head and murmured apologies into China's hair.

And China pulled him closer, fingers trembling, concealed tears slipping past closed eyelids. "Don't let go, opium bastard," came the soft words. A small, sad smile appeared on England's lips. He tightened his grip, answering China's demand. Perhaps if China forgave him, England could one day forgive himself too.


	11. Chapter 11

**Rating:** PG  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> England/China  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 775  
><strong>Notes: <strong>I'm a masochist! I apparently want to break my own heart. IDK. IDK WHAT THIS IS. ANGST. THIS IS CRAP. Also, I've never actually read _Butterfly Lovers_. I've read 7654365748 synopses of it, but not the actual thing. Ffff, one day I will learn Chinese and read it. ;w; Until then, I will keep reading _Romeo and Juliet._

_xxx  
><em>

"Is that so?" England eyed the words on the page, foreign symbols doing nothing but blurring together in a mass of strikes and striations. He frowned and continued to listen to China's voice—tantalizing, almost seducing—as he related to the story to England.

"Yes, and they made a vow: 'till death do us part'." China casually leaned against England, his chest brushing England's arm as he reached to turn the page. "But Liang was too late. Zhu's parents had already arranged a marriage between her and a rich man."

China turned the page, eyes sparkling, gaze glued to the text. "Liang was so broken-hearted that he became ill and died."

"He died of a broken heart?"

"It's possible," China breathed, glancing at England for a second. Time stopped, and England had to force himself not to toss the book and pull China into his arms. Instead, he broke their gaze and looked at a picture of the bride.

"Let me guess, she kills herself."

"Aiya, so you _have_ read this?"

A chuckle, "No, I have not, but don't those sorts of love affairs end that way?"

China sighed and flipped to the next page. "Zhu was going to marry Ma, but on the day of her wedding, she goes to pay her respects to Liang." China's eyes suddenly sadden, but the sorrow is there only for a second. "She is so desperate that she begs the grave to open."

England silently watched China, his hands—which should have been pressing China against his body—trembled.

"The grave opened, and Zhu threw herself into the grave, joining Liang. At the end, a pair of butterflies emerge from the grave." At the mention of the colourful insects, China smiles. "And they were never separated again."

The final page in the book is an image of a pair of butterflies. England scoffs, closing the book. "Sounds like _Romeo and Juliet_ to me."

China raises a brow and eyes England, "_Romeo and Juliet_?"

"Shakespeare. Come on, Yao, don't tell me you've never heard of _Romeo and Juliet_." It was as if a dagger had pierced England's heart. "They were young lovers, but their families hated one another. Still, they tried everything to be together." England's face lit up, and China took the chance to grab his book from England's hands.

"They died?"

"Yes. They perished in the name of love."

It was China's turn to laugh, "How sentimental."

England frowned and crossed his arms, "Don't get me wrong, Yao. Shakespeare was trying to mock Romeo and Juliet. Imagine, children of their age professing their undying love for each other. It's preposterous."

China stared at England, and then stared at the book in his hands. The silence engulfed them.

"It makes sense now," China breathed. If England read tales that made a mockery of love, then he never had a chance. "It was all a farce."

The words froze England's blood. He turned his head and gazed at China, but China was already standing to leave. In a moment of desperation, England reached out and wrapped his fingers around China's upper arm, stopping him in his tracks. England stood just as China turned around, and he blurted:

"If I profane with my unworthiest hand  
>This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:<br>My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand  
>To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."<p>

China's mouth hung open—his original intention was to yell at England for grabbing him so roughly—and a faint blush blossomed on his cheeks. "Excuse me?"

"Yao, the play was written to mock love, but everything Romeo and Juliet said to each other, every last vow and promise they made, that was nothing but the truth." He swallowed, eyes searching China's, "Those poetic confessions were all genuine, Yao."

The world suddenly seemed to shrink. China felt cold and small. His gaze travelled to the floor. The words repeated over and _over_ in his head and threatened to crush his heart. Once upon a time, England had gently run his fingers through China's hair and whispered strange, yet beautiful words against his lips. But the knight in shining armour was nothing but a monster waiting to devour him. China would not—_could_ not—fall for his lies again.

"Arthur," he whispered, eyes meeting England's, "Words are pretty, but actions mean everything. Romeo and Juliet were willing to die for each other. _You_ were willing to kill." He pulled his arm away, turned, and forced himself to not look back.

Because if he did, he knew it'd be impossible to ignore the regret and anguish visibly shining in those perfect green eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

**Rating:** PG  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> England/China  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 487  
><strong>Notes: <strong>It's like I just want to make them suffer all the time.

_xxx_

Angry yells and mocking words had been nonchalantly tossed around for what seemed like an eternity; now, however, the room was silent, and China was gently pressed against a cool, hard wall.

England was far too close. Their bodies lightly brushed. England's arm rested against the wall beside China's head. His green eyes peered into China's gold ones. Their breaths mingled, noses barely touching.

Yes. England was _far_ too close.

China knew their afternoon tea would lead to arguing. It wasn't often that they argued. Their silly spats had dwindled as the years passed. And when one of them—usually England—_did _say something offensive, the other would sigh in frustration and leave. That was the end of that. They were mature adults; they knew arguing would get them nowhere, and China hated buying new chairs to replace the ones he tossed at the Englishman.

But this time, England had backed him up against the damn wall. China couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He couldn't look at anything except England's brilliant green eyes.

The anger was disappearing, but the air was still tense. China half-expected England to say something obnoxious—what were they fighting about again?—or leave, but …

The younger nation closed his eyes and slumped against China.

"I never meant to hurt you," he whispered.

China blinked and automatically wrapped his arms around England's torso. England felt heavy, and China didn't want him to fall, so he protectively secured his hold.

A sigh escaped England's lips. He turned his face, his nose brushing China's neck. It caused the older nation to shiver; the other's breath gently kissing his skin was _not_ what he had expected to receive from this argument.

Much less an apology.

"Hurt me?" China feigned indifference. He swallowed and moved a hand to England's hair, gently brushing his fingers through the thick, soft strands. "We always argue. You didn't hurt—"

"You know what I mean." England pressed his lips against China's neck. A soft, apologetic kiss. "I never apologized, Yao."

China closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against the side of England's head. His hair tickled China's nose. England hadn't _verbally _apologized, but China wasn't blind; he could see the regret in those eyes. He moved his other hand to England's chest, gently coaxing him to stand upright.

"The tea's getting cold," he murmured, finally able to look England in the face again.

A minute in silence passed. England smiled. He reached his hand out and ran his fingers through China's hair before cupping the nation's cheek. After a quick glance at the tea, England chuckled and pulled China into his arms.

"We can brew some more later," he whispered against China's lips.

"I never said I forgave you," China began, his words swallowed before he could escape his entrapment.

But England could tell by the way China's fingers gently wove through his hair that his apology had been generously accepted.


	13. Chapter 13

**Rating:** M  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> England/China (even though it's actually China/England. No, I don't follow seme/uke roles OTL)  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 335

**Notes: **I feel out of place. Even my fave artist fails to draw top!China, le sob! So yeah, I will remedy that. I like me a bottom England. Am I the only one who thinks they switch 50/50?

China laughed. It wasn't malicious or cruel or taunting, but it made England's entire body _shudder_.

"What's so funny?"

The blindfold covering his green eyes frustrated him. He hated not being able to see the other nation—beautiful, smile in place, a hint of playfulness shining in his eyes—and not being able to touch him was even worse. They had done this countless times before, so England was all too familiar with that doting, teasing gaze and soft, delicate body. Still, that wasn't enough to console him. England needed to see those gold eyes looking only at _him_. He needed to feel Yao's warm skin and long silk-like hair.

"Aiya Arthur, stop struggling." A pause, then a playful, "As you say, relax and enjoy." China's voice lulled him, made something inside him flare.

He loved when China teased him, but his tie was wrapped too tightly around his eyes. It wouldn't fall off, no matter how much he struggled.

China leaned down. His teeth gently nipped at his bottom lip, crotch pressing deliciously against England's. England flicked his tongue out only to find that China had pulled back, just enough to be out of kiss's reach. China's breath tickled his lips, a whisper of a kiss making England tremble.

"Yao ..." England could barely speak. How could he? China's hands were slowly—teasingly—travelling down his chest, his lips and tongue and teeth following. It was almost too much for England, and he was suddenly glad the blindfold shielded him from glancing down and seeing China smile as he unzipped his pants.

"Lift," came the command. It was demanding and firm, though China's voice was barely audible. England complied and lifted his hips. The cool air rushed against his hot skin and England sucked in his breath.

Control. England hated losing control of a situation, but when China was the one delegating the rules—and touching and tasting and oh so mischievously kissing every inch of exposed skin—England could momentarily forget about dominating.


	14. Chapter 14

**Rating:** PG  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> England/China  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 347  
><strong>Notes: <strong>I don't remember writing this fic lol.

xxx

England could feel the stares burning holes in the back of his head. He stood out like a brown, rotten apple in a mass of shiny red ones. China had invited him to dinner, but when England accepted the offer, he hadn't realized that dinner consisted of China _and_ China's family.

All of them.

Japan politely passed the tea to Macau, Thailand cheerfully chattered with Hong Kong and Korea, and Taiwan excitedly asked Vietnam if she wanted seconds. Meanwhile, China sighed and mumbled something about table manners and the lack thereof being displayed at the table. No one listened.

So England turned his attention to his food and the wretched chopsticks in his hand. Carefully, he picked up some rice, only to watch most of the grains tumble back onto the plate before making it into his mouth.

A chuckle. "Aiya, how long has it been and you _still_ can't use chopsticks properly." China scooted a little closer, a small smile ghosting over his lips.

England blushed, embarrassed and terribly distracted by the proximity between them. "Forks are much more practical. I mean, you can't even—"

He was silenced by the feel of the rice touching his tongue. China's head was curiously tilted to the side, and he still wore that smile.

"We're in _my_ country, so you'll eat with _my_ utensils."

A nod. England chewed and swallowed. His eyes quickly scanned the table. Everyone was seemingly distracted by the food or idle conversation, so England leaned down and gently pecked China on the lips. "It'd be easier if you kept feeding me."

China moved back a little and half-pouted, half-frowned. "Aiya, no kissing allowed at the dinner table," he whispered, stealing a glance to make sure no one had seen England's little performance. His eyes returned to gaze at England's and he sighed, "Just this once. But you have to eat whatever I decide to feed you."

England chuckled. "Fine, I have no qualms about that."

"Good." China's cheeks were slightly reddened. He picked up a dumpling and brought it to England's mouth, "Say 'aah'."


End file.
